“Books to the ceiling, books to the sky…”
I seem to be building up a literary debt that I may never be able to read myself out of. I actually realized this in May, and declared a moratorium on the purchasing of books until I was caught up on the ones I had. Except for Harry Potter, of course, but that was only because I knew I’d probably read it in a weekend.
Then I found out that the long-awaited sequel (The Dark River) to a book I enjoyed in 2005 (The Traveler) was due out at the beginning of July; obviously there was nothing to be gained by putting off that purchase, so I pre-ordered it.
And then, toward the middle of June, a colleague who also enjoys dry British wit and a good fantasy yarn got me excited about a book called Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I was going to put that off, too, but then I heard several people refer to it as “Harry Potter for grown-ups,” and finding myself currently caught up in a state of painful anticipatory yearning over Deathly Hallows, I went for it, thinking it would tide me over until HP arrived at the end of July. Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered it online, but I did; being a 780 page hardcover, it did fetch a fairly hefty price for a book, but it didn’t quite break the $25 free shipping mark, leaving me no choice but to throw in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle in order to reach the $25 free shipping mark. Besides, I reasoned, this Murakami fellow is supposed to be a freaking literary genius.
But shipping takes time, and so, I reasoned, I would just pick up The Name of the Rose, because I’d wanted to read it for years, and it would pass the time, and it seemed so convenient, sitting right there in front of me on the bookstore shelf…
…Better not to address the question of what I was doing in a bookstore at this point to begin with, I think.
I actually lasted a while after that. And I did read Harry Potter, The Dark River, and The Name of the Rose. And I even started reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, although that was five months ago and I’ve now read maybe 150 of its daunting 780 pages.
Then the gift cards came, and naturally I had to spend them. So add to that House of Leaves, Shadow of the Wind, and Stardust. And also add How We Die: Reflections on Life’s Final Chapter, which I got sucked into reading online. Every single one of which I’ve now read ten or fifteen pages, even while poor Norrell languishes on my nightstand.
Beneath The Right to Learn.
Oy. If there is such a thing as literary ADD, I believe I may have it. Then again, I suppose it’s not really all that strange. When you think about it, reading single books all the way through one at a time is a little like ordering several tasty dishes at a fine restaurant and refusing to taste any of the others until you’re completely through with the first. Maybe books should be treated more like dishes in a meal — a little of this, a little of that, appreciating and enjoying how the different flavors complement each other.
Mmmm…tasty… 